


The Shanghai Job

by inatrice, LudicrousLegacy



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Explicit Language, Gun Violence, M/M, Slow Build, These tags aren't as bad as they appear we're just being safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inatrice/pseuds/inatrice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LudicrousLegacy/pseuds/LudicrousLegacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2031, two years after a failed mission gone horribly wrong, and Master Assassins Altaïr and Malik find themselves forced to work together again for the first time since the travesty occurred. Shipped off to Shanghai to take down a nefarious slum lord with possible connections to a Piece of Eden, they are compelled to reevaluate everything they think they know about each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The obnoxious buzzing at his wrist was what jarred him awake.

Malik yawned as he stretched, mouth tasting disgusting and his throat and lips so dry they cracked. He looked over to the clock on his bedside table and spotted the empty prescription bottle. 6 AM, two days after he'd passed out. He rolled his eyes and lifted his wrist to his face and saw it was Shaun calling. He flexed his cybernetic arm, listening to the little machinery wake up, responding to the signals his nerves sent, and hum lightly in the silence of his bedroom. After a few seconds he lifted it and pressed the answer button on the phone wrapped around his wrist. "What?" He croaked.

"Boss has a job for you. Partner work this time Al-Sayf. Better get down here soon." Shaun told him curtly, hanging up without waiting for a response.

Malik swore under his breath and rolled out of bed. He trudged to the bathroom and stuck his head under the faucet, drinking as much water as he could, mouth not feeling as dry as before. He hopped into the shower and watched the membrane over his arm blip and change to match his dusky skin tone.

Clean, Malik headed out into another day that was too bright in his opinion. He braved the Istanbul traffic, unwrapping his phone from his wrist and laying it flat in his palm, accepting the files Shaun had sent with info on the job. He saw the name of his partner and felt his blood boil. Once he reached headquarters he stormed into the briefing room, eyes ablaze. He zeroed in on Shaun. "You know I work alone. And even if I  _did_  accept a partner, it sure as  _fuck_  wouldn't be him!"

Shaun shrugged, looking unfazed. "Not my call. You got a problem, take it up with the boss."

Malik groaned. The day had just started and he was already fed up and ready to go back to bed.

 * 

_Two years_.

That was the first thought to cross his mind when he woke up in a cold sweat for what had to be the thousandth time, his pulse racing like it had when the silence broke, and the sounds of the first gunshots echoed throughout the place.

His hands were shaking, and he clenched them into fists. He didn't have time for this.

Two years, and he still had nightmares about that day...the day it all got blown to hell, a simple covert mission gone horribly wrong, all because of his own damn impatience. He forced himself to get out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom, peeling off his sweat-damp clothes as he did and stepping into the shower. Two years. Two years since Kadar Al-Sayf was killed in action, and his blood was on his hands, as much as it was on any of those Templars'. 

He tried to force the thoughts away, but still ended up brooding as he scrubbed himself down, more out of nervousness than anything else. Starting up a new mission was always hard, but this time was different, it would be harder than usual. Because his partner happened to be the very same person who was with him during that mission. He was going to be working with Malik, for the first time since the accident, and it made his stomach turn.

A sudden mental image of Malik, doubled over in pain and clutching his bloody arm, raced through Altaïr's mind, simply making the nausea worse.

He shoved it aside, grabbed a towel from the rack and dried himself off perfunctorily as he hunted for his clothes. Opting to skip breakfast, he instead filled a Thermos with coffee and left the apartment quickly, hailing a cab to take him down to headquarters.   
  
He flicked through the mission folder again in the backseat, even though he had memorized most of it by now. The soft blue glow of the tablet's screen illuminated his frown as he went over the details again, the target, the location, all basic information...and then the revelation about who he would be working with, clearly etched in glowing white letters. Malik Al-Sayf.

His stomach churned again, and even the coffee seemed like a bad idea now. He forced himself to take a sip, willing himself to calm down.  _Get a grip, Ibn La'Ahad_. He chastised himself, even knowing full well it would do nothing for him.  _Get a fucking grip._

He stopped the cab driver a block away from the building and handed him a wad of bills, instructing him to keep the change. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he allowed a sour mood to settle over him, somewhat masking his discomfort and anxiety as he waded through the crowds. Every meeting he had had so far with Malik had been a complete catastrophe; how did they expect him to actually work with him? The man couldn't stand being in the same room with him did they really think he was going to consent to this?

But Altaïr would have been lying if he said that he wasn't anticipating it in a way. Despite everything, or maybe even because of it, he still had a lot of respect for Malik. And he hadn't forgotten their friendship, the closeness they had shared before it all went to shit.

Maybe things would be better this time, he told himself, as he ascended the steps to HQ. Not because he believed it, but actually because he didn't feel he had much of a choice.

*

Malik was about to explode in Shaun's face for real before the door behind him opened and he walked in. Malik sniffed and curled his lip and sat down in the chair that would be farthest away from Altaïr. "I can't believe any of this. First of all, you're sending me  to Shanghai, which is out of our jurisdiction, in case you weren't aware. Second, you're sending  _me_ , who has been on innumerable solo missions with a 100 percent success rate, with him?" Malik threw his head to the side as an indicator to Altaïr, who frowned deeply but made no audible comment. "I wanna know just what the fuck you're thinking here, Hastings."

"Malik I told you, this came directly from the top." Shaun told him, keeping his voice surprisingly even. Even he knew not to mess with Malik when he was in this kind of mood. "I had nothing to do with it. If you really have that much of a problem, I can set you up a meeting with Mr. Miles."

Malik froze. This was from William. This was serious. 

"Now, if you're quite finished." Shaun said, folding his arms over his chest. He looked over to Altaïr and rolled his eyes, but Altaïr’s expression still did not change. He pulled out his own tablet and turned on the projector. After a few swipes on his screen, Shaun had all the mission information up on the projector. "Abbas Mas'ud Amirmoez,” he read, as a picture flashed of a surly-looking Middle-Eastern man, tall, dark, and sharply-dressed. He looked fairly unremarkable, save for the jagged scar that extended from below his left eye to just under his chin. “Iranian slumlord turned druglord. He runs opium out of Afghanistan to all corners of the world. We have people telling us that he's started gaining interest in new wares that include little boys and girls. He's rumored to be setting up shop in Shanghai which is where you'll be going. And before you ask, Mr. Miles has you two being sent because you've had experience with his men before and you both speak Persian.”

Altaïr arched an eyebrow, placing his palms flat on the table. “That’s all very well, Hastings, but I still don’t get why this has to be us.” He resisted the urge to glance at Malik, to see if he agreed with him. “You could have gotten anyone from the Chinese branch to take care of this, or the Iranian Branch. Why send in two Master Assassins just for some crummy druglord?”

“Well, maybe if you exercised just a _bit_ of patience, Altaïr, I could have gotten around to telling you.” Shaun replied dryly, and Altaïr grunted. “Amirmoez may just be your average run-of-the-mill crummy druglord, or he might be, as we highly suspect, also in possession of a Piece of Eden.”

Altaïr’s staunch frown quickly converted to a rare expression of surprise, and even Malik seemed stunned. “You’re sure about this?” Altaïr asked. “I thought we had all the Pieces accounted for?”

“Yes, we thought so too.” Shaun projected another photo, this time a grainy screencap from a security camera. The image showed Amirmoez holding a small globe in his hand that looked too much like an Apple to be dismissed immediately. “But Leonardo has been studying autopsy reports from dead mobsters and dealers that have been showing up in his areas of residence, and has matched their deaths infallibly to those caused by other Pieces of Eden in the past. It seems like our friend here has stumbled upon one we’ve overlooked. Although I find that incredibly hard to believe…I did my research with perfect thoroughness.” He sniffed disdainfully and shook his head.

“So what now?” Malik asked gruffly, and Altaïr flinched. He had forgotten the other man was even there.

“You're to be working with the Chinese branch of the order, checking sources, checking locations, translation and the like." Shaun paused and took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "You two are some of the top assassins in the world and that's another reason you've been chosen. I don't know if you're aware, but Shanghai is an extremely dangerous city and it will take both of you working together to even keep each other alive." He looked up and directly at Malik. "Try not to foul this up, yeah?"

Malik held up his hands in surrender. Altaïr merely shrugged; he didn’t need the warning, he was sure.

Shaun put on his glasses again and opened the small case on his desk. "Here are your passports and documentation. You'll be posing as business men interested in expanding your toy company, opening new factories with cheaper labor. You've been given enough money in appropriately named accounts to cover any costs you might have. They've got some new clothes for you and Leonardo is here to show you the type of weapons you'll be using and what new we've had developed." Shaun looked at both of them back and forth. "If you don't have any questions, Leo is waiting for you in the weapons hall. Good day, gentlemen, and try not to kill each other. You're actually both rather good assets to the order."

Malik's eyes followed Shaun out the door and then landed Altaïr. They stayed for a moment and he was thrown back in time. He took in a sharp breath and looked to the floor. 

*

Once he was sure that Shaun wasn’t adding anything of value to his knowledge, Altaïr had effectively tuned him out, allowing Malik to do enough complaining for the both of them while he took his time to observe. He felt like he could allow his attentions to wander, settling instead on his partner for the next few months, automatically utilizing the stealth skills of his profession as to not let on to Malik that he was watching him so... _aggressively_.

Not that he felt like he would notice. He had barely even looked at him long enough to deliver a scathing look, but that was pretty much exactly what he had been expecting after all. So why did it make him feel like an utter wreck?

His eyes fell upon the new arm, his first time seeing it so close-up, and in such detail. The membrane that covered it matched his skin tone to a T; he might not have known that the arm was a prosthetic, save for the way it rested on the table, unnaturally still, and the way Malik's other hand always seemed to find its way to the opposite elbow, holding it in some way. Force of habit? Or was it actually paining him? Altaïr couldn't tell.

His eyes were still on Malik once Shaun had exited the room, watching him patiently, unsure of what to say next. He cleared his throat and reached for the documents Shaun had left them, rifling through the papers with little interest. "Habib Behrouz," he read aloud from his passport, "and Navid Teymour," from Malik's. "Common enough names. I doubt we'll attract much interest with those." He chanced a glance from Malik, who remained silently glaring at the floor. Altaïr resisted the urge to sigh and separated his documents from Malik's, sliding the rest across the table and standing up to arch his back. "Right, if you're done here, we can go see Leonardo and get this circus on the road. The sooner we can start this mission, the sooner we can get it done with and you can go back to pretending I don't exist."

*

Malik heard Altaïr's words but he didn't really listen. He was hearing Kadar's voice ringing in his ears and it just simply was  _not fair_ that the ghost of his brother haunted him every time he saw Altaïr's face. Every. Fucking. Time. And because of that he really hadn't allowed himself to even consider forgiving the other man for what had happened. Sure, he'd had time to cope and come to terms with the fact that his only family was gone, but Altaïr made everything flood back to the front of his brain, and it ate at him in a way that nothing else could. The entire situation was fucked anyway, everything about it, and there were nights when it was all he could think about. Nights where he usually found himself knocking back enough pills to forget everything around him, if only for a few sweet hours. 

"... you can go back to pretending I don't exist."

Altaïr's voice brought him back to the briefing room. Malik resisted the urge to look up at him, furiously ignoring that hint of hurt in his voice. Unsure of exactly what to say, he simply glared at him briefly before turning away, ignoring Altaïr’s impatient groan as he exited the room in a huff. He did allow his eyes to follow Altaïr out the door however and something tipped his brain again. It must've been some small detail that Malik hadn't seen in 12 years or more, but suddenly they were 10 years old, being taken to the house where they were to be made into assassins. They were both huddled around Kadar, terrified but excited to finally be out of that orphanage, looking forward to the idea that they would be doing something in the world and that they would have a better life, the three of them together. Back then they had sworn to stick together forever, and when his feelings for Altaïr had really begun to surface, things had gotten even more tangled up, especially when the training they were receiving was driving a wedge between all of their relationships. 

Malik blinked and grabbed his documents and shoved them in the bag he'd brought along. He slammed the door open and started walking toward Leonardo's warehouse without a word. He thought it was stupid they were going there anyway. He hadn't received any news on new weapons anyway.  Malik could feel Altaïr following him and fuck, that  was going to grate on his nerves. 

They made it to Leonardo and Malik stalked up to him, standing up straight, ready to hear whatever it was the other man had to say. Like he guessed, Leo didn't have anything new and just confirmed them for ballistic knives and set Malik up with instructions on where to pick up his normal Dragunov semiautomatic sniper rifle once they arrived in Shanghai. Malik couldn't help but grin as he received the coordinates to his phone. He'd learned to love that gun. After his arm had been amputated the Order had insisted he move to the sniper position since only one arm was necessary. He had not so recently been allowed back to hand to hand on solo missions since he'd all but mastered his cybernetic arm, which was why he was being equipped with ballistic knives now. He put the replacement blades in his bag and began strapping the hilt apparatus onto his right arm. Most assassins wore two, though Malik couldn't bring himself to do it.  It felt wrong because he couldn't  _actually_   feel his blade with the cybernetics. A blade which had become an extension of himself over his lifetime. The year and a half without it had left him feeling naked and off balance anytime he was awake. So he stuck with the one.

Malik glanced up and saw Altaïr receiving the coordinates for the pickup site for his VZ61, a small sub machine gun perfect for close encounters. Malik had seen him with it and he couldn't help but be impressed. Even if Malik hated him, Altaïr was still a fantastic assassin and a sight to behold when he was in his zone. Malik's eyes fell to Altaïr's lips as they always seemed to do, and there was the scar. The mark Malik had left on the untouchable assassin. And fuck, what lips it was attached to. He closed his eyes angrily. The last thing he needed was to remember his fucked up little crush. Once Altaïr was done he led the way again out of the building toward the buses. He looked to the crowded street, seeing his ride pull up. "I'll uh. Meet you at the airport in a few hours." He mumbled stiffly before turning on his heel and hopping onto the 17 bus. 

*

He had to make a conscious effort to ignore the way his blood boiled when Malik walked away. After all the time they'd been apart, that was all he had to say to him. A simple "meet you at the airport". How were they supposed to work together if Malik completely refused to communicate?

He was hurt, and annoyed that he was hurt. Was it really worth getting this worked up over?

Altaïr sighed heavily and reached into his pocket for his communicator, summoning a company car to pick him up; he still had one more stop to make before he could go home and pack. He wondered why Malik still took the bus most places; it wasn't like the Order didn't provide generous salaries and a wide variety of transportation options. So much about Malik he didn't know...he who had once known him better than anyone....

He missed him. He would be lying if he said he didn't. Lying if he said it hadn't been on the tip of his tongue back at HQ, before that hateful look was turned on him. Before his hackles had been raised, before all his shields flared up as he shut himself down. He never thought the glare Malik so often used on their enemies would be directed at himself someday.

He blinked a few minutes later as the car pulled up at the curb, honking to get his attention. Sliding into the backseat, he passed over the location info to the driver, who nodded, wordlessly taking off, sliding up the privacy partition, allowing Altaïr time to collect his thoughts.

Almost unintentionally, he pressed a button on his communicator, and after rifling through a few files, brought up a holographic video. He watched, expressionless, as a bluish-tined projection of Malik and Kadar playing chess lit up the interior of the car with a soft glow. Malik was explaining the finer points of the game to an unimpressed Kadar, who shook his head as Malik stole one of his knights with a pawn.

"Altaïr, why are you even filming this?" Kadar's echo whined, as Malik turned to give him a smile of the kind he hadn't shown since Kadar's death. "This is possibly the most boring thing I've ever been subjected to!"

"More boring than Rauf explaining 'what it is to wield a gun'?" Malik mused, as Kadar scowled and pushed a rook forward. "Well, no, but almost. Hey!" He complained, as Malik stole the rook as well, grinning now. "Malik, that's not fair!"

"That's chess." Altaïr heard his disembodied voice now, and the image flickered slightly as the camera zoomed in on Malik's smug grin, then back out to the whole scene. "Although it would probably be a lot different if I were playing instead of you, Kad."

"Well, you come and play him then!" Kadar rose from his seat and aimed a kick at the chess table leg. "I'm done. Sorry, Malik, but I really don't wanna do this anymore."

Malik sighed as Kadar sauntered off, going for his PS5. He rearranged the pieces lovingly on the board as Altaïr watched. "You can stop filming now, Altaïr." Malik turned a quizzical expression on him as he put the white queen back in its place. "The game's over."

"Maybe I just like your face." Altaïr's voice said, and Malik chuckled, rising and walking over to him, taking the camera with both hands. "Come on, cut it out." Malik said, as the whole scene tilted and the feed abruptly cut, leaving Altaïr alone in a car that suddenly seemed much darker.

He felt the car come to a stop a moment later, and brought the partition down again. "I'm just gonna pick something up." He told the driver. "Wait for me, I'll need transportation back to my apartment, and then to the airport. He opened the door and slipped out without even waiting for confirmation, approaching the warehouse with his mask firmly back in place.

If his eyes were slightly red-rimmed, his hood would probably do enough to hide it.

*

Malik gnawed on his lip, watching the roads carefully. He knew exactly where to get off the bus, but it still made him a bit nervous every time he did this. After another moment, he stepped closer to the door, pressing the 'stop' button. The bus rolled to a stop and he hopped off, throwing his hood up over his head. There were eyes everywhere, Assassin, Templar, just plain old government. He stalked down the small alley, ignoring most of the shops he passed, until he came to one that seemed like just an ordinary store. It sold knives and certain weapons that were allowed to the general public and other niche products. Malik slid off his hood and gave the man behind the counter a hard look. The man nodded him toward the back of the store, and Malik headed through a door only covered by a curtain. 

There was another man in the back of the store counting money before he looked up to see Malik coming through the doorway. "Malik, you're back already?"

Malik shrugged. "I just found out I'm going to Shanghai. I need more to tide me over until I get back."

The man nodded, standing quickly. "How long are you going to be gone?"

"I honestly don't know. It's for work. I need to make sure a deal goes through before coming back." He shrugged, leaning against the door frame. 

The man stood after rummaging through a few boxes. "Okay, here's a three month supply." He held out a big bottle toward Malik, but held it back after Malik reached for it. "This stuff's a little harder than some others I've given you, so the price is a bit steeper."

Malik rolled his eyes and grabbed a wad of bills from the inside of his jacket. "I don't fucking care, just give me the goddamn pills."

The man snatched the bills out of Malik's hand and tossed him the bottle. "It's labeled as a natural sleep aid so it shouldn't attract much attention."

"Thanks," Malik threw over his shoulder as he turned to leave. He nodded to the other man at the counter and walked out of the store, putting his hood up again. He headed up the street and pushed a few buttons on his phone, calling a company car to the plaza up the street, before wrapping it around his wrist again and jogging to the destination. 

Once the car pulled up, Malik instructed the driver to go to his apartment. He arrived there and packed quickly, just enough to get him through a week in Shanghai. The Order would be giving them money for clothes and anything else so he wasn't too worried. He got back in the car and was taken to the airport. He made it through security easy enough and found the gate quickly. He glanced around for Altaïr and sighed when he didn't see the other man. Typical. This assignment was going to be the same as the old ones, Altaïr running around completely caught up in his own little world. Malik sat down and hunkered in, waiting for boarding to begin and hating every bit of this mission already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Legacy here. Just a couple things we need to let you all know:
> 
> 1\. This fic is an edited version of an ongoing RP between myself and inatrice. We're working very hard to convert the material to fic format, but we're both very busy people, so there will most likely be slip-ups and typos. Please be patient with us.
> 
> 2\. That being said, updates might be irregular, sometimes slow, and neither of us are actually used to co-writing multi-chapter fics. But we promise to update as fast as we can. We're SO excited to bring this fic to you! 
> 
> Please enjoy :)


	2. Chapter 2

Desmond was already waiting for him when he walked in, smiling as he held a full backpack out to him. "Morning, sunshine." He quipped playfully, ignoring the scowl on Altaïr's face that had had the guards at the door practically cowering in fear. "I heard the news. Not happy, are we?"

"Shut up, Desmond." Altaïr replied coolly, taking the backpack and unzipping it carefully. "What have you got for me today?"

"Touchy, touchy." Desmond chuckled, as Altaïr extracted the objects one by one and looked at them carefully. "We've been working on a lot of new tech over here lately ... everything I'm giving you is a prototype though, so be aware of that. I got you a communicator that actually wraps around your wrist. No one carries those rocks like yours around anymore, Altaïr. This one's got full 3D functionality too, and a holographic touchscreen. Newest model. You're welcome." Altaïr grunted his thanks and handed over his old communicator, which Desmond took and beckoned over one of the developers at a desk nearby. "Matt here will take care of the data transfer so you don't have to worry about that. Look what else I got you." He beamed as Altaïr dug deeper into the backpack, passing over a fancy GPS device and a mini-first aid kit to get straight to the bottom. "What's this?" He asked, as he pulled out a plain black box, made of some sort of heavy plastic.

"It's a digital chess set." Desmond looked pleased with himself as Altaïr opened the box to inspect its contents. "It's compatible with almost all modern communicators so you should be set, you can control it with that. I figured you could while away the time with it. It's not exactly standard issue and I know you prefer to play with physical sets...." He trailed off as Altaïr's expression remained unchanged. "You don't have to take it, I just thought—"

"It's perfect, Dez." Altaïr cut him off, finally offering him a smile. "Thank you."

"Yeah, 'course." Desmond sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks for coming by, man. It gets so dull around here, I swear to God."

"Lack of action got you down?" Altaïr laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Don't worry, you'll get your chance. You're fresh out of training, kiddo. Give it time."

"Yeah, right." Desmond scoffed, looking away. "Like William's ever gonna let me out of here. I don't get it, Altaïr, I really don't. I mean, it's not like I'm stupid or incompetent, I did well in training. Why's he got me tucked away here in some fucking warehouse while all this shit's going on right now?"

"I'm sure it's only temporary." Altaïr insisted, and Desmond rolled his eyes. 

"Sure," he pulled away as Matt came back with Altaïr's new communicator, which he accepted with a word of thanks and wrapped around his wrist. "Anyway, I'm sure you need to go home and pack. As I understand it your flight's in a few hours."

"Yeah." Altaïr agreed, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. "I'll call you when I get there."

"Make sure the line's secure." Desmond replied, though Altaïr knew what he really wanted to say was "I wish I could come with you". He patted him on the shoulder once more before heading off, fiddling with the new communicator as he went.

Back home, he packed quickly, taking only the essentials in a small carry-on. He was back in the car before long, speeding off to the airport. He briefly considered calling Malik to make sure he was there as well, but thought better of it. It was Malik after all, he was likely there already and probably had been for a while. They would be boarding separately after all, probably not even sitting next to each other. This’ll be just like the old days. You know how it goes.

He sighed and settled in for the drive. He wasn't exactly looking forward to what lay on the other end of it.

*

Malik was getting antsy. The fool wasn't there yet and the flight was boarding in ten minutes. No, no he wasn't worried, he just didn't want any mistakes that Altaïr made to reflect badly on him. He stood and fidgeted with his bag, though he wouldn't look suspicious since the terminal was very nearly full with people standing and sitting on the floor. No sign of him. Malik sucked his lower lip into his mouth and bit. He startled just a bit when the attendant call for first class to start boarding. Fuck he wasn't that caught up in the other man was he? After a few more moments of glancing around, his section was called to board. He still hadn't seen Altaïr. Fuck.

He wasn't worried. He wasn't. There was no reason he should be. Altaïr could take care of himself. The Order had probably even booked them on separate flights to not raise any suspicion or tie them together if anyone was observing. He boarded and tried not to think about anything, trying to think that even if Altaïr did get caught he could take care of this mission on his own anyway.

10 hours later, Malik stumbled off the plane. He immediately looked for a cab, knowing he was in no state to do anything other than get to the apartment the Order had gotten and crash. He found a car and handed a paper with the apartments address to the driver. When the driver nodded he got in the car and let out a big puff of air. He closed his eyes and tried to tune out the radio. He'd never really liked the sound of Mandarin, though he couldn’t help listening to the differences in the dialect here.

30 minutes later he arrived at a modest apartment building. It was just outside of the new business center. It looked like the architects had only made a minimal attempt at trying to make the outside look like a Spanish villa and the burnt cream color paint on the side was cracked. Malik tried not to roll his eyes and threw some money at the driver. He looked at the address again as he walked inside. They would be on the fifth floor, apartment 12. He stepped up to the elevator, which had a sign on it. He held the wrist with his phone on it up to the sign and it translated for him. "Out of service."

Malik stared at the sign for a moment. "Fuck me." He sighed, shoulders dropping in defeat, and trudged up the stairs. Once he reached the fifth floor he stomped down the hallway, not caring what kind of impression it left on his new neighbors. He came up to the door and held his wrist up to the small black rectangle on the door. The lock clicked open and he walked in. "Hello?" No answer. There was an odd sense of triumph knowing he had beaten Altaïr to the apartment, though of course he would have, he was on the first flight. Malik internally rolled his eyes, almost ashamed at how petty he was being. He checked every room to make sure there was no one hiding and waiting to kill him in the tiny apartment. Finally, Malik dropped his bag on the bedroom floor. "Fuck you and your fucking budget." He muttered under his breath to the Order. He went to the bathroom and then flopped on the bed, not even bothering with the duvet, though he did manage to kick his shoes off. He'd talk to Shao Jun, their representative to the Chinese faction of the Order, tomorrow, damnit right now he just wanted to sleep.

Malik closed his eyes, feeling himself finally relax for the first time in 12 hours.

*

Altaïr fiddled with the settings on his communicator as he sped to the airport, frowning as he flicked through the applications Desmond's techs had pre-uploaded to the device. While all the standard apps were there for tracking locations, checking vital signs, and decoding messages were there, some were just so ridiculous he couldn't help but grimace. What the hell did he need with an app that showed you exactly how far away you were from donuts at all times? Donut Time? Yeah, that one definitely had to go. He switched the phone off and snapped it back around his wrist, settling back for the rest of the ride.

Once he was checked-in, he killed time at the airport by wandering in the duty-free shops, unable to resist buying some candy and a couple of magazines for the flight. The M&Ms forced a rueful smile out of him; they had been Kadar's favorite. He bought two bags and tucked one into his carry-on, just in case.

He looked for Malik on the plane when he boarded, but gave it up as a scheduling difference when he couldn't find him amongst the economy seats. It was logical enough that they might be on separate flights after all, so he simply settled with his candy and magazines and tried to pretend he wasn't disappointed.

Ten-hour flights didn't agree with Altaïr. Airplane food made him sick and the altitude gave him monster headaches. So he was only half-blending, half-legitimately shuffling through the Shanghai airport in his hoodie and aviator shades once he had claimed his luggage. He looked the typical douchebag tourist, thus giving people more than enough cause to ignore him, just the way he liked it.

He arrived at the apartment a half hour later, tiredly paying (and accidentally overtipping) the cabbie, who was therefore more than happy to help him carry his bags inside the foyer. He groaned when he noticed the out-of-service elevator, hauling his suitcase and backpack up the stairs with great difficulty. He had to wave his wrist in front of the receptor three times before the lock would accept his digital key, and when he finally got into the apartment, he was just about ready to pass out where he stood. Instead, he kicked his bags into the corner and took a look around.

The apartment could be called cozy at best, downright cramped at worst, but in both cases, could probably still be referred to as filthy. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust or grime, and the carpet was sticky with stains Altaïr didn't even want to contemplate. Instead, he skirted the patchy patina of stains and went straight to the bedrooms, only to be greeted by another nasty surprise.

Not bedrooms. Bedroom. And it was currently occupied by none other than Malik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, inatrice talking to you this time! Thank you so much for those who read through chapter one, and an extra special thank you for those that left kudos and commented. You guys keep us fueled!  
> Sorry this chapter is shorter, but there is bigger stuff coming up in the next chapters and we had to split it up a bit~  
> We will try to post once a week at least, so keep watch!  
> Thank you for your patience and support <3


	3. Chapter 3

Malik heard shuffling coming from outside the door and opened his eyes. The shuffling got closer to the door and then stopped and there was a soft groan. A stupid grin broke out over Malik's face. Haha sucker.

Malik looked at his phone and saw that only an hour had passed since he'd gotten to the apartment and he'd taken a nice little nap. Refreshed, he stood and did a few stretches. He took in a sharp breath and held his left arm after he'd stretched it. The bionic arm still painfully dug into his muscle if he moved the wrong way. He walked out of the bedroom and padded silently through the main room to the balcony. He opened the door and glanced awkwardly at Altaïr, though he didn’t say anything, and stepped out. The air was harsh on his nose and he could see the smog he was smelling hanging just above the buildings. The street below revealed a steady stream of people. Malik eyed them carefully and could easily tell 80% of them were armed. The other 20 probably were as well, he could only assume. Right then he only had his blade but he could see a group of rebellious looking youths, probably ready to jump the first person to give them a look they deemed strange. Two of them had AK 47s resting just on their shoulders. Malik frowned. Typical, the Order would put them in a questionable area. He walked back into the small apartment.

He hated to admit it, but he would need Altaïr with him if he was going to scout around and get the lay of the area. He knew his own skill level and he could probably take the youths, but not as confidently as he'd like. "Altaïr," he called still looking out the door toward the street. "Should we go get our weapons? I don't want to be so out gunned anymore." He spoke in Turkish in case anyone was listening and expected them to speak Arabic. He honestly felt a little naked without his rifle near him and was eager to get it back.

*

An odd mixture of emotions coursed through him as he heard Malik address him directly for the first time in months. He wanted, for an irrational moment, to pick a fight with him, hit him with a snarky, "Is that really all you have to say?" or simply ignore him entirely. But at the same time he wanted to test the waters, see if there was any possibility at all that Malik would be able to work past his feelings so that they actually might get something done. "Dez said they probably wouldn't be ready till later tonight...it's only four in the afternoon." He refused to look directly at Malik's deepening scowl, instead going into the kitchen and conducting a quick search of its contents. "We have time to kill, we should probably use it to visit a supermarket or something, the apartment has clearly been unused for a while. We need food and cleaning supplies." He opened the fridge as he said so, glancing disdainfully at its meager contents of a pack of cheese, a loaf of bread and two bottles of water. He closed it with his foot and chanced a direct look at Malik, meeting his eyes for the first time. "And by the way, who said you could have the fucking bed?"

*

Malik could practically feel Altaïr's need to lash out radiating from the other man. What did he expect to happen? This was strictly business. He had no reason to try and even pretend to be friends. They weren't. Altaïr was part of a chapter in his life that was closed and that he didn't want to open ever again. He rolled his eyes, knowing he couldn't have his rifle yet. "Yeah I guess we can get food." Great. _Shopping_ with Altaïr. This mission was a fucking delight already. He turned around, scowl on his face, at the comment with the bed. "I did when I got here first. Did you really think it was something that was going to be up for debate? First come first serve. You should know that." Anger boiled up in him, an anger he wasn't comfortable with honestly. It almost surprised him. He met the other man's gaze, a nearly tangible electricity passed between their eyes. "What right do you have to tell me what to do anyway? Who said you would have any authority over any part of this mission? If any one's going to be in charge it's going to be me so you can't fuck anything up and so no one will get hurt!" He clenched his fists, his bionic arm responding just a hair slower than his own hand to his nerve signals. He let out something that sounded like a strangled bark of laughter. Fuck he was getting emotional. He did not need this right now, he did not. Malik took in a deep breath and stood up straight, trying to push down the anger. He _would not_ let this asshole have the satisfaction.

*

Altaïr couldn't help but glance at Malik's arm as he spoke, concern briefly passing across his face at Malik's choked laugh. But he pushed it aside, knowing that it would probably only rile Malik further if he expressed it aloud. "See, that's the thing about being 'partners', Malik, no one's fucking 'in charge'. We're on equal footing here, so remember that if you try to order me around. I'm a Master Assassin, same as you." He ignored Malik's scoff of "When did your stance on that change?" and moved out of the kitchen, over to his bags in the corner, speaking over whatever protests Malik had been about to voice. "Fine, take the fucking bed if you like, but you'd better keep a lid on that temper, because by the looks of things, if anyone is going to blow our chances during this mission, it's the one acting like a raging alcoholic. Did you even check out the surroundings before slugging upstairs and plonking your lazy ass into bed?"

*

Malik couldn’t help but be offended at Altaïr’s words. His anger and annoyance at the other man grew. He was practically vibrating. He had every right to be angry, he had every right to be upset at this whole thing. He hadn’t been this angry in a long time and okay fine, if it continued, it probably was going to hinder their mission but right now he fucking felt entitled to a few moments of anger just to get it out of his system. "Of course I fucking looked at my surroundings, I'm not an idiot Altaïr!" He nearly shouted. He couldn't help it. This idiot, this _goddamn asshole_ had the nerve to question his methods. "I've been following the rules closer than you have our entire lives! You think that's going to stop the second I'm forced to do something I don't want to? Fuck you." He couldn't believe what he was having to put up with. His irritation an annoyance itself now, he took a deep breath and walked back to the bedroom, trying and failing not to slam the door. Malik closed his eyes and took a few breaths. Better. That was a bit better. He reached for his bag with shaking hands. Maybe he was reacting like this since he hadn't had his pills in what seemed like forever. He found the bottle of pills and swallowed two dry. His hands stopped trembling after a few moments. He knew the pills hadn't taken effect yet, but it was a mental thing. It was a crutch yes, one he was extremely ashamed of, but a crutch he couldn't shake. And he didn't know if he wanted to despite the shame. After another deep breath he stood and walked out to the main room again. "All right." He said, crossing his arms and looking at the dingy off white door out to the hallway. "Let's go get your groceries."

*

A cold, cold anger settled over Altaïr as soon as he heard the door slam, and his face contorted with an expression of rage. He made to slam his fist angrily against the wall, but thought better of it; the apartment walls were thin enough and he didn't want Malik to know how much his words had bothered him. Instead, he practically tore off his shirt, fumbled through his bags for a fresh one, and grabbed his communicator from the kitchen counter, prepared to go down to the supermarket himself.

And then the asshole came sauntering out of the bedroom, cool as you please, which only served to irritate him further. But instead of letting it show, he instead smiled sweetly. “Are you sure you can handle it? Don't you want to take another nap? Maybe fix yourself a drink and sip it out on the balcony? Or maybe just go have yourself another nice little sulk. I can take care of the groceries myself, you don't need to come with me."

*

Malik let out an angry scream. "You fucker!" He flew at Altaïr, punching the other man in the face before he had time to react. He tackled Altaïr to the ground and punched him again. "You don't know anything about me anymore! Stop pretending you know what I've gone through and how I'm dealing with it!" He punched again though it didn't connect as well since Altaïr was starting to react. "Fuck you! Fuck you!"

Completely thrown off by the unexpected attack, Altaïr was only able to react right before the third punch. He quickly jerked his head to the side, grabbed the fist flying at his face and headbutted the bridge of Malik’s nose as hard as he could without breaking it. He threw Malik off him as the other man screeched in agony, cupping his hands around his nose and breathing heavily. Altaïr couldn't even find it in him to be worried about his behavior, all he could feel was rage and adrenaline pumping through his veins. "Are you...insane?" He asked finally, breathing heavily himself and working his jaw painfully. He could feel the bruises starting to form already; Malik's bionic arm packed a powerful punch. "What the everloving fuck was that? Jesus, how did you even pass the fucking psych evals if you think you can go around getting away with shit like this?"

*

Malik held his head, some blood dripping from his nose. "I've never reacted like this until I had to work with you again." He growled. He still sat on the floor, legs curled underneath him. He felt the bridge of his nose gently. Not broken but probably bruised. "Something about you just makes me lose it." He knew he needed to stay in control of himself. If he wanted this mission to go smoothly, it was essential he calmed down. He closed his eyes and controlled his breathing. "And that's a bad thing and I need to control it. And..." He closed his eyes harder and took in a shaking breath. "I'm. I'm sorry I ... Punched you." Malik had to hold back a gag. Fuck he never thought he'd apologize to Altaïr about anything. He was doing this for the mission. Get this over with and move on with his life. For the mission. For the mission.

*

Of all the things he expected, an apology was probably the last. Altaïr could only stare down at Malik's curled-up form, his eyes closed, his breathing shaky. For a moment he could only stand there awkwardly as his rage slowly subsided, watching Malik's chest rise and fall with his breathing before turning back to his luggage. He found a pocket pack of Kleenex, which he tossed into Malik's lap after extracting two, going back into the kitchen and opening the freezer door. He reached in for the ice cube tray, twisted and upended it, splitting the ice cubes between the two tissues and making a couple of makeshift ice packs.

He pressed one to his throbbing jaw, grunted at the pain, and thrust the other towards Malik. "Here. Take this, and let's do our damn shopping. We don't have a lot of time before the weapons pickup so let's get this done. If you still want to come, that is."

*

Malik took the Kleenex and dabbed at his nose before taking the ice from Altaïr. He sighed at the cold, but it felt great. "Thanks." he choked out. He stood and took a deep breath. "Yeah let's get going. I don't want to be in this godforsaken apartment anymore." He went back into the bedroom and grabbed an extra blade in case it was needed before he brought up his bank account on his phone. Plenty of money in there for food and the essentials. He went through his bag and grabbed the card associated with that bank account and went back out to the main room. "I think I underestimated just how dangerous the city was. We probably shouldn't go out alone, even during the day." He told Altaïr. "We got some kids out there with machine guns even." He looked at Altaïr, actually looked at him, a serious expression on his face. "Cover me, I'll cover you?"

*

_Just like old times_...Altaïr nodded once as he reached for his wallet, or one of them anyway, and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. Cracking his knuckles, he pulled down the sleeves of his long t-shirt and coughed lightly, very quickly testing his hidden blade. After all these years, he still preferred to work with one, even though most of the Assassins in the order had adapted to using two. "I'm ready when you are." He informed Malik, who was still looking straight at him.

Their eyes met, and Altaïr felt his stomach do a backflip. It seemed almost alien to be meeting that fierce gaze, actually being allowed to look at him, to be looked at in return. Unbidden, thoughts of Malik five, six years ago came to mind, and Altaïr almost frowned as he contemplated the changes that had come across his once-friend. Was he imagining it, or did Malik look...haggard? It wasn't just the grief, though that had certainly taken its toll on him, he looked thoroughly exhausted, almost defeated, and just looking at him gave him sudden chills.

Perhaps Malik was right in saying that he shouldn't have made assumptions about him, how he was coping, what he must have had to go through after losing Kadar...or maybe he was looking too much into it. He had just been on an exhausting flight after all, and the fight couldn't have helped him much. He looked away finally, feeling that he had held his gaze longer than he had been allowed. "C'mon...let's get out of here."

*

Malik watched Altaïr for a half second longer after the other man looked away. He thought he had seen something. A realization maybe? Altaïr had been looking at him closely and he didn't know how closely he wanted Altaïr to be looking at him. He waited for Altaïr to move and then started walking toward the door, following Altaïr out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's Legacy again. inatrice and I are hard at work putting together this fic for you, and we'd like to thank our loyal readers and reviewers. We hope you're enjoying the story so far. I know we are!


End file.
